


The Parka

by JQ (musicmillennia)



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Diabolical Shenanigans, Established Relationship, Gen, Hurt Len, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Team Bonding, The Flash loses a lot, The Parka, just a warning, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 22:46:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5761783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/JQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mick stares at the parka like he's never seen it before. “How much stuff can that thing hold?”<br/>Len’s mouth curls. “It’s bigger on the inside.”<br/>He doesn’t know whether to be ashamed or not when Mick asks, “The fuck does that mean?”</p><p>[Or: Five things Captain Cold's parka holds for others and one thing it holds for him.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Parka

**Author's Note:**

> I thought, "golly gee, I'm gonna update all my WIPs!" and then Classes and Bipolar were like, "hA, nice try nerd."
> 
> SO
> 
> have this dccoldwave and Rogues trash instead.
> 
> Two things: 1. I put in some fake science, so just bear with me on that. 2. The Flash loses. A lot. He's also hardly in here except for losing. Whoops.

  1. **Mick Rory**



Far be it from Len to encourage Mick's volatile behavior (much). Yet, far be it also from Len to deny happiness from of the only things close to something good in his life. Because let's face it, Mick's high on that little list.

Stuff gets lost; it happens. And no matter how closely Mick guards (covets) his matches and lighter, Len's been waiting for the day they disappear. The Rogues, smart bunch they are, back away from the inevitable tantrum Mick throws at the corpse of his lighter, broken by a gunshot. Funny enough, the lighter saved his life.

It's stupid, but Len sends a mental thanks to it.

Reaching into one of the inner pockets of his parka, close to his chest, Len retrieves the new lighter. It’s almost an exact replica of Mick’s lost one, minus the scars. But Len has no doubt those will come soon enough.

He takes Mick’s hand, says, “Here,” and presses the lighter into his palm. “Chill out. Job’s done, with the Flash none the wiser. We have better things to do than indulge in your fits.”

 _Here. I know it’s not the same, but I hope you like it anyway._ Len purses his lips around the words, irritated at how childish they sound. _First lesson:_ _don’t get soft_.

Mick’s eyes are wide and reverent as he takes in his new lighter. Flicks it on. Flicks it off. Flicks it on again. Len rolls his eyes and turns on his heel, the rest of the Rogues letting out a silent breath and following suit.

Until Mick bellows a loud, deep-throated laugh and snatches Len’s hand. As always, he knows exactly what Len means. _How_ he does that is a puzzle Len hasn’t solved yet.

For now, he’ll settle for a bruising kiss and Lisa’s exasperated huff.

(Mardon’s scandalized yelp is also greatly appreciated.)

 

  1. **Hartley Rathaway**



No, Len hadn’t finished high school. No, he can’t build the sonic tech Piper has. But he can learn.

Sonic technology isn’t his specialty, but every machine has its quirks. They have things that make them tick, just like people.

(Idly, Len wonders when Lewis managed to twist his son into seeing humans as machines.)

He can learn everything there is about his cold gun; he can do the same with Rathaway’s tech.

Doesn’t take long for him to find the main power source, how it connects to the gloves, and where to get it. _Lesson two: prepare for every possible eventuality._

 _Hypocrite, hypocrite, always needed a plan B—_ Len takes a silent breath through his nose—“ _I did. And your sister turned out to be a disappointment too_ —”

A warm shoulder brushes against his. “Piper’s gonna be pissed when he founds out you broke his toy.”

Len wrangles the memories together and shoves them into their lockbox. If he didn’t know any better, he’d be grateful for the coincidence. As it is, he knows better.

_You’re not there. You’re here. Safe. In control._

Len hums, affecting distracted behavior even while he taps his elbow with Mick’s in a barely-there touch. _Thank you._

“His fault for making it so easy to snatch,” he says, tinkering with the transmitter.

Mick raises an eyebrow. “He had these things in a box with a fancy firewall.”

Fancy? Sure, they took twenty minutes to crack, but all in all Len enjoyed solving the puzzles. It’s something he’s good at that he likes doing, which isn’t a common occurrence for him. He tilts his head, not having anything to say.

Mick’s hand smooths over the back of his neck, squeezing lightly. Not nearly enough to hurt, or to threaten. It’s a testament to how far they’ve come that Len’s first reflex is to lean just enough into the touch so Mick knows it’s okay to keep it there.

“How’d you do it?” Mick asks, though for what reason Len isn’t sure. Years of knowing him and he still doesn’t have him completely figured out.

Len begins rebuilding the glove. “A puzzle’s a puzzle, Mick,” he says, clicking parts into place, “once you find the key, it’s only a matter of figuring out how to use it.”

Another squeeze. _That’s_ impressive _. Don’t you realize how smart you really are?_

Len doesn’t hear that one. He gives Mick a confused look disguised as a hardened glance before stepping away from him in order to complete the rebuilding, as well as his replica of Hartley’s power core. Mick lets his hand drop.

After everything’s back in their rightful places, Len stores the core in a pocket above his gun holster. Probably not as sophisticated as Piper’s, but there’s a 95% probability it’ll do in a tight spot.

Not a month later, the Flash manages to break the core with a counter blast that, if Len’s not mistaken, will take plenty of time to recharge—a good 347 seconds. Plenty of time to incapacitate, grab the loot, and leave.

“Piper!” Len shouts over the din of screams and Mick’s wild laughter, “Try this!”

With a practiced movement, he reaches into his parka and takes out his core. Piper catches it, astonished. Thankfully he doesn’t waste time replacing his damaged part. Len blasts Flash’s legs, and—will it work—?

A mighty shattering of glass. The Flash crying out in surprise and pain. Part of Len relaxes in relief. Before Piper can do more than give Flash a nasty headache, he yanks him from the scene, grabs what he can, and shoves the kid into the car. They escape by the skin of their teeth.

Len doesn’t know it, but after that, Hartley starts looking at Cold differently.

 

  1. **Lisa Snart**



When it comes down to it, Len will always choose Lisa over himself without hesitation. That’s how it’s always been, and that’s how it’s going to stay.

According to her, they need to spend more quality time together. As always, Len denies his baby sister nothing. They pull a job, just the two of them, at Mercury Labs. What they take looks important; if Piper doesn’t find a use for it, Len knows there’ll be an interested buyer. Either way, they win.

Since it’s small enough to fit in Lisa’s bag, she takes it, while Len plays decoy. They mount their bikes just as the cops come whirling around the corner. A flash of lightning won’t be far behind, which sends a familiar thrill shooting up Len’s spine.

Having a real nemesis, especially one with superpowers, is just plain fun.

Regardless, Len has to make sure the Flash fails to reach Lisa. He knows which of them the hero will choose to chase, so he falls behind his sister’s golden motorcycle and takes a detour. She can lose the cops no problem.

He can’t lose Flash, but that is, fortunately, not her concern.

In a blink, Len’s snatched from his bike and shoved into the police station before vertigo has a chance to pinch his stomach. Much as he hates it, Flash’s speed reminds him too much of— _being hurtled down the steps, one after the other, unable to stop rolling-crashing-rolling some more, fuck, when will it **stop**_ —no, damn it, not now. Len freezes the memories where they are. Won’t hold them for long, but it’s (almost) always been long enough.

“Bravo, Flash,” he says as a triumphant Detective West cuffs him, “only took you eight tries.”

Flash doesn’t respond, but Len can see the displeased curl of his lips; Barry Allen’s got a pretty set. If Len had a thing for cradle-robbing and twinks, he could picture himself trying his hand with that.

Then again, if he did that, he wouldn’t have Mick like he does now. Never mind.

They take his parka. Of course. Luckily, Len packed light for this job.

“Um, Detective?”

Suddenly, all the officers in the precinct are gaping at Len. At first he nearly panics, despite the fact that he knows nothing important was stored in his pockets this time. He’s hard-pressed to keep his shoulders from sagging when he sees the small navy blue bag the officer opened.

Len’s eyebrows crawl to his hairline, unimpressed. He doesn’t see what the big deal is; biology is biology.

“You are aware, Detective, that I have a baby sister?” he asks, not trying not hide his smirk.

Because it’s so _funny_ , the way other men cringe at the very sight of tampons.

 

  1. **Mark Mardon**



After Lisa busts her brother out, she thanks him by smacking his arm and calling him a jerk for leaving her to those horrible cops. Reading her _thank you_ in there is second nature by now. He tells her _always_ by calling her a trainwreck, as usual.

(Why can’t they say these things out loud? Maybe they just never learned how.)

Len returns to the Rogues’ main base— _home_ , it’s home, no use denying it—with her. As soon as he’s through the doors, he seeks out Mick’s eyes. The heat of that familiar gaze burns through the annoying memories that’ve been whispering through his head for hours, and now he can _think_.

(How strange, that Heat Wave has become his anchor.)

There’s another set of eyes on him though, and Len addresses it without looking, making for the bar stool next to Mick and the bottle with its two glasses waiting on the counter: “Something to say, Mardon?”

Mick pours; Len drinks; Mardon answers, “I didn’t think you had it in you, Cold.”

Len puts the glass down without letting go. Mick scoffs quietly and pours again. “Had what?”

Mardon shrugs, “Saving someone else instead of yourself.”

No. Len knows this isn’t just about _someone else_. Mardon had a brother, one he lost. Len’s capable of many things, but he can’t, he _can’t_ imagine losing his baby sister. Something they have in common, Cold and Mardon.

This is an opportunity to break the ice, and Len doesn’t even have to lie to exploit it. A nice change.

He takes a swig from his glass. “First thing you need to know about me, Mardon,” says Len, “I’d do anything to protect my family.”

Lisa’s tiny smile glows in Len’s periphery. Works better than the drink in his hand ever could.

For his part, Marion looks surprised. Next second, that surprise melts into a bitter half-smile. “Guess we’re not so different after all,” he mutters.

He has no idea how different they are, but at least half-truths can still work. “Guess not.”

Mick bumps their knees as he spins around to pour himself a long one.

Mardon nods, as if deciding something. “I look forward to working with you, Cold,” he says. Even better, he only leaves when Len returns his nod.

Mission accomplished.

(He can’t so much as hope for a friendship. No, people have to be reduced to _missions_. Fuck you, Lewis.)

“Well,” Lisa says after a beat of silence, “I think I’ll take a shower. Can’t be smelling like a jail now, can I?”

Before Len can reply, she’s gone, and Mick’s yanking him forward, hand already hot on his thigh. He shoves everything else aside and lets himself sink for a few minutes.

Then, he grabs a shower with Mick. After that, it’s back to business. He has to have a conversation with Rathaway.

 

Len takes Mardon, Lisa, and his idea for a spin a few weeks later. The trial run takes place at the mayor’s annual gala. Mardon’s under the impression they’re just here to rob the arrogant upper class, while Lisa’s got a good guess Len’s got an ulterior motive. She doesn’t know what, which is obviously frustrating her.

Sure enough, Len stands by, gun resting in his hands, while Lisa and Mardon collect their spoils from the frightened guests. Predictably, Flash comes zipping in long before the cops show.

Len signals to Mardon, who’s all too happy to summon a tornado. Flash, helpful as always, plays his part by holding up a device designed to counter it. Just as he does, however, Cold whips out his own.

Rathaway knows Cisco Ramon all too well. He also knows how to best him. Cold smirks as Flash’s toy is successfully neutralized. Mardon laughs, downright gleeful, as his tornado stays exactly where he wants.

“You’re not the only one with a sonic screwdriver, Flash!” shouts Len. He’s not sure if his enemy caught the reference, but going by Mardon’s astounded face, at least someone did.

The countermove will only slow the Flash down, not stop him, but at least Len knows he can protect another one of his Rogues.

Now for the fun part. Adrenalin spiking, Len holds up his gun and takes aim.

 

  1. **Shawna Baez**



The most important lesson the Snart children learned from their father was one they taught themselves: _you can take worse than this_.

Right now, _this_ is a broken bone and deep gashes across his torso. It’s weird, how Len’s always shocked at seeing his own arm split and nearly black with bruises. The blood, he’s used to, but broken bones have always held a morbidly fascinating quality to him.

At least Cold knows that particular meta-human is definitely not interested in the Rogues.

Shawna’s hands have a slight tremble—Len doubts she’s ever experienced _this_ in her limited time at school—but her face is set with determination that puts Len at ease about her ability to get the job done. Combined with Mick wrapped around his shoulders, Len’s not worried.

“This is gonna hurt,” Shawna warns.

Len’s expression is as cool as ever. “I know,” is all he says before he takes the handkerchief from Mick and stuffs it in his mouth.

He won’t scream; he’s learned not to. This is just a precaution in case he reflexively bites his tongue.

Briefly, Len looks up. Mick stares back down at him, alight with anger. Should they meet that meta again, Mick won’t hesitate to torch her where she stands, Len knows. Somehow, he feels better for that.

Or maybe that’s just the shock setting in.

“Ready?” Len wants to ask _are you?_ Shawna sucks in a breath, bracing her hand over the bone. “One—two—”

_SNAP!_

Len’s breath hitches for a moment, vision swimming. Mick’s arms tighten around him, and he almost gives in and passes out.

But he can’t. Not yet.

Methodically, he takes out the handkerchief and reaches into his parka. With his left arm rendered useless, it takes him a while to take out everything: needle and black thread, rubbing alcohol, and gauze.

Mick’s breath is at his ear. “How much stuff can that thing hold?”

Len’s mouth curls, willing away the quaking pain. “It’s bigger on the inside.”

He doesn’t know whether to be ashamed or not when Mick asks, “The fuck does that mean?”

Shawna snatches her medical supplies without a word and gets to work. Her hands are completely steady now.

Len forces himself to stay awake. He’ll be home soon.

 

**+1. Leonard Rory**

Only two people in the world know Len’s real name: his partner and his sister.

He and Mick’d been younger when they went and got married. After so many years filled with nothing but suffering, both of them thought they’d finally found what they needed in each other. Maybe it’d been the liquor talking, maybe it’d been that last shred of the foolishness of youth they managed to retain somehow; maybe it’d been both.

Either way, Len was able to shirk the name Snart at last, if only for himself and the people who mattered. The one time he got to see it— _Leonard Rory_ —was on a piece of paper he burned almost immediately afterward. He’d wanted see it, just once.

They never bothered with a divorce when they separated. Now, Len can’t say he’ll complain about that. Especially now.

Bad Days are commonplace for Leonard Rory. Doesn’t make the Worse Days any easier. Sometimes he just wakes up and feels like part of him’s been knocked off-center, a vital piece he needs.

Mick’s taken a joyride around Keystone. Len takes a minute longer in bed to process that, as he does every day Mick’s gone. He plans out the rest of his day in that minute as well, working slower because it’s a Worse Day. He can allow himself that, at least.

Finally, Len forces himself to stand. Take a shower. Brush his teeth. Shave. Dress. Pull on his parka.

Reach into the innermost pocket. Unzip it. Feel the familiar shape of a chain, trace it to a more familiar still shape of a ring.

Len twists the ring in his fingers for eleven seconds. Then, Cold quickly zips the pocket shut and strides out the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Let dccoldwave rise.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
